Tell Mr Dillon
by Shellecah
Summary: A cowboy who hates lawmen hounds Chester to rile Matt.
1. Chapter 1

Darius Cain fought any man who failed to move out of his way, and he seldom spared a glance for a body in his path. The other man always bore blame and forced trouble. Headed for the cattle pens where he worked, Cain led his horse out of Grimmick's livery, turned round the stable door and bumped Chester coming in for his horse and Buck.

The cowboy saw Chester as a chance to plague Matt, and to loose the wrath lurking in Cain's gut like a wolf snarling and worrying the bars of its cage. Cain hated lawmen.

Chester looked into the dark pits of Cain's eyes, at his prominent cheekbones, hawk nose and long hard mouth. A little shorter than Chester, Cain had broad shoulders, a solid frame and big fists, and was known in Dodge for his orneriness.

Chester stiffened and his eyes narrowed as his heart thrilled to pounding and he went clammy cold. He backed up two steps.

"Stay out of my way." Cain's voice was bitter.

"You bumped me," said Chester. "Why don't you look where you're goin'." Moss heard their words and hurried outside to warn Chester to leave it be, too late.

"No man orders me and gets away with it," said Cain. He hit Chester. Chester fell back and lay still in the dirt, eyes closed.

"He don't tell Dillon I hit 'im, you tell the marshal," Cain said to Moss, then mounted his horse and rode away.

Moss bent over Chester, patted his face and called his name until he opened dazed, blurred eyes and lay blinking and staring at Moss. "Cain hit you," said Moss. "It's alright; he's gone."

He stepped behind Chester's head, took hold of his shoulders and sat him up. Chester leaned back against Moss's legs, and Moss looked over Chester's head into his eyes, so he saw Moss's face upside down. "Chester," said Moss.

"Moss," said Chester, in a soft vague tone.

Moss wrapped his arms around Chester's narrow torso and pulled. "Come on," said Moss. "I can't stand you up."

Chester struggled to his feet, and Moss handed him his hat. He put his hat on and listed to the side, and Moss pushed him upright. "Come in and lay a spell," said Moss. "You're muddled."

"I cain't," said Chester. "Mr. Dillon and me's ridin' to Jim Malik an' Anse Underwood's ranch."

"Come in and set while I saddle the horses," said Moss. "What's Matt ridin' out there for?"

"Farmer what lives half-mile from their ranch," said Chester. "He rode in early this mornin' and said Jim an' Anse is dead and looks like they shot each other. Mr. Dillon hasta look for hisself, calculate if maybe someone murdered 'em, and we haveta bury 'em."

Chester sat on a hay bale and rubbed his throbbing jaw. His neck hurt.

"No surprise if they killed each other," said Moss. "They were always fighting. Anse drank too much and he was a mean drunk, and Jim, he had a vile temper." Chester stood and took the horses' reins, pressing his fingers on his neck.

"You gonna tell Matt?" said Moss.

"Not lessun he asks," said Chester. "It don't break the law iffen a man hits another 'un." He felt a swelling starting on his jaw, and hoped the marshal wouldn't notice.

"Cain told me to tell Matt if you don't," said Moss, walking outside with Chester. "But I won't. Tell Matt."

"I'll tell Mr. Dillon, Moss," said Chester. "So's Cain don't hurt you none. He's jest lowdown 'nough to do it."

"You shouldn't rile him, Chester," said Moss. "When you come on him again."

"He's the one bumped me," said Chester. "I ain't gonna cower to the likes of him."

Matt was waiting at the marshal's office window when Chester walked up with the horses. "Chester," said Matt, taking his gunbelt off the peg. "You been a time. Were ya chattin' with Moss?"

"I run into Darius Cain down ta Moss's, Mr. Dillon."

Matt paused in strapping on his gunbelt to look at Chester. "He make trouble for you, did he?"

"Ah'm jest tellin' you on account of Moss said—" Chester's breath hitched. "Cain tole Moss to tell you he hit me. Cain did. Iffen I don't tell you. I'm tellin' you so's Cain won't hurt Moss."

Matt looked at the four big knuckle marks in a raised red patch on Chester's jaw. "What happened?" said the marshal.

"Cain bumped me walkin' his horse out the stable," said Chester. "We quarreled on it some and he hit me, then I opened my eyes a layin' in the dirt and Moss helpin' me up."

"I'll talk to Cain before we ride to Jim and Anse's ranch," said Matt, putting on his hat.

Chester followed Matt outside and walked with him to the cattle pens. The marshal said nothing on the way, so Chester kept quiet, too.

They sighted Cain on his horse in a corral, herding out cattle. The marshal and Chester approached the pen and stood at the fence, watching the cowboy. Matt planted his boots apart and hooked his thumbs in his belt.

Cain rode out of the corral, dismounted and looped his horse's reins around a fence post. Two drovers rode up and herded the cattle away.

"Marshal," said Cain. "Chester tell you, did he?"

"He did," said Matt.

"Tell 'im to stay out of my way." Not looking at Chester, Cain's dark eyes bored into Matt.

The marshal wanted to hit Cain, harder than the cowboy hit Chester, and Matt warned himself to hold back, knowing he could break Cain's jaw.

"Cain, bumping into a man doesn't give you a right to fight him," said Matt. "When you knock him senseless, particular."

"Tell me what I can't do, maybe I'll knock you out, too, Marshal," Cain bit out.

Anger flared in Matt's chest. "You beat one more man for bumping into you, Cain, I'll bust your hide, tie you to your horse and run you out of town."

The cowboy's hard mouth tightened to a slash and curved down at the corners, so Matt saw it coming. Although tough with big strong fists, Cain was no nimble boxer. Matt blocked the blow and punched Cain. He staggered, and Chester backed out of the way.

The marshal rammed his left fist into Cain's muscled belly, and Matt's right fist hammered Cain's jaw. Knees buckling, Cain's boots scrabbled the dirt, and he sat down hard on the ground.

Looking up at Matt, Cain's dark eyes burned hatred. He climbed to his feet, pulling himself up by the corral rails. "It's all coming down on friend Chester's head," Cain growled.

The marshal grabbed Cain's vest and jerked him up close to Matt's face. "Any grudge you got is with me," said Matt. He slapped his palms on the cowboy's chest and shoved, and Cain stumbled back, almost losing his footing again.

Matt walked fast toward Front Street. Chester hesitated, looking curiously at Cain as at some strange species of vicious animal. _"What're you LOOKIN' at!"_ Cain rasped, thrusting his head at Chester.

Chester started, his brown eyes staring wide at Cain, and Matt turned. "Come on, Chester," said Matt, his steady voice freeing Chester from the smoldering dark wells of Cain's eyes.

Chester hurried to Matt, and limped quickly to keep pace with the marshal's long strides. "Try and stay away from him," said Matt. "If he comes after you again, let me know."

"Yessir," said Chester. "What d'you calculate he meant by it's all comin' down on my head, Mr. Dillon. Should I put a gun in ma belt?"

"No," said Matt. "If Cain wants to fight, he knows he'll have to fight me."

"Cain's not a feller to respect the law," said Chester.

"I wouldn't worry, Chester."

"You ain't the one he cursed, Mr. Dillon." Matt patted Chester's shoulder.

At the Malik and Underwood ranch, the marshal couldn't figure how the men died. The bodies appeared to lay where they had fallen in front of their house. A six-gun was on the ground by Jim's hand, and Anse's fingers were wrapped around his gun butt. Each cylinder contained five bullets, so Matt guessed Malik and Underwood had each pulled the trigger once.

The two men had worked their small spread alone, so there was no one to question. The bodies lay a few feet apart, almost side by side, suggesting that rather than shooting each other, they fired at a third man who shot them both. Matt found blood only on the corpses, and staining the dirt under them. Whoever shot them had escaped without getting hit, and there was no supposing if he'd murdered the two ranch owners, or killed them in self-defense.

Matt and Chester buried the bodies, and rode to the neighbor who found them dead. Matt asked the farmer to move Jim and Anse's livestock to his land, and the marshal and Chester rode back to Dodge.

"We need provisions, Chester," said Matt, seeing Chester move to the bed. "It can't wait. We're out of most everything." Worn down from the trouble with Cain and grave digging, Chester heaved a sigh.

"You want lunch, first?" said Matt.

"We got no food," said Chester.

"I was thinkin' Delmonico's," said Matt.

His face droopy, Chester looked at the marshal and yawned. "I best go to Jonas's afore lunch, Mr. Dillon, if I can stand to make it, recollect what we need and carry it all back. Cain't do it on a full belly. I'll fall out plumb asleep on the street," said Chester.

"Well, Chester, I'd go with you, but I want to get the report on Jim and Anse written while it's fresh in my mind," said Matt. "Why don't you fix some coffee before you go, help wake you up."

"No . . . no," said Chester, yawning. "I'll go now and get it over with. I kin fix coffee fer you, Mr. Dillon, you want some."

"I'll make the coffee," said Matt. "You go on."

Headed for Jonas's store, Chester stopped still as he saw Cain approaching from further down the walk. "Oh, my _goodness_ ," Chester said. Cain quickened his pace. He'd seen Chester.

The cowboy had finished his day's job at the cattle pens early and collected his pay, and was going to the barbershop for a bath. He carried a clean change of clothes in a sack.

Chester looked back the way he had come and wondered if he should hightail it to the marshal's office, as Mr. Dillon had told him to try and stay away from the cowboy. The thought of running from Cain was shaming, and Chester set his mind to get himself through the store's opened doors before Cain caught up with him.

He limped fast, and Cain broke into an easy run, coming at him. Chester had nearly reached the store when Cain ran past the doors, straight at Chester, who hopped off the walk into the street.

Cain stopped, and the two men eyed each other. Chester walked past Cain, turned and moved cautiously toward the doors. Jonas was tidying up a row of boots inside the store, and he looked at Chester. He couldn't see Jonas's eyes, just his spectacles reflecting the early afternoon light.

Facing Chester, Cain moved to stand in the doorway, blocking the entrance and Chester's view of Jonas, who stepped to the side, looking out at Chester. Mr. Dillon had sent him for the provisions, and he would try his doggonedest not to return empty-handed.

Chester stepped onto the walk. "Move out of the way, Cain," he said quietly.

"I guess you didn't learn at the livery this morning not to tell me what to do," said Cain.

"I'm gettin' powerful tired of you, Cain. I wanna go in and yer blockin' the doors," said Chester, raising his voice. "Now, _move_."

"You go on home to Dillon, errand boy," said Cain. "Let 'im know I'm raisin' a ruckus."

Chester edged around Cain. Cain grabbed him, and they tussled in the doorway as Jonas watched. Cain tried to push Chester off to take a swing at him, but Chester clung to the cowboy, forcing him back into the store. Chester threw his weight against Cain, who toppled over backward with Chester on top of him.

"Get off me." Despite Cain's larger size, his struggling slowed as he lost breath. He couldn't shake Chester loose.

" _Gimme yer word,"_ said Chester.

"What," said Cain.

"Take your li'l knapsack and git out. Leave me be whilst I buy ma provisions," said Chester.

"I can't unless you let me up," said Cain.

Chester let go of him, and Cain picked his sack up off the floor. "Who do you think you are, talkin' to me like that," said Cain. "Man like you."

"You gonna leave?" said Chester.

"Sure. I'm gonna leave you somethin' to tell the marshal."

Cain looked at Jonas. "If friend Chester don't tell Dillon, be sure you do," said Cain.

"Tell Marshal Dillon what," said Jonas.

"Don't pay 'im no mind, Mr. Jonas," said Chester. "He hates lawmen. He's houndin' me to rile Mr. Dillon, and I ain't standin' for it."

"You got no choice," said Cain. With one swift movement, he drew his gun and whacked Chester's head.

Chester stood there stunned, feeling no pain at first, only a trickle of blood sliding down his face from the gash in his temple.

Cain holstered his gun. "You remember what I said, Mr. Jonas. See Dillon finds out about this." He walked out.

"I – I'll get a cloth for your head, Chester," said Jonas. "You best get to Doc's straightaway."

"It's like that. With him," said Chester.

"Just – just take it easy, Chester," said Jonas, wetting the cloth.

"It was the same with Moss," said Chester. "Cain told Moss to tell Mr. Dillon he hit me. Cain did. So I have to. Tell Mr. Dillon. So's Cain won't come after you."

Jonas took off Chester's hat, handed it to him, and mopped his temple. "Well, I keep a loaded shotgun under the counter there," said Jonas. "I know how to use it, and I will if I have to. You should tell the marshal, anyway, Chester. Cain split a big cut in your head, here."

"I have to," Chester repeated. "Tell Mr. Dillon."

"You go to Doc's," said Jonas. "I'll tell the marshal. Press the rag against your head so the bleeding stops."

The cut was burning now, and Chester's head started throbbing. He handed Jonas a slip of paper with the provisions list. "Mr. Dillon said stock up on ever'thin'," said Chester, feeling a mite swimmy-headed.

"I'll take care of it," said Jonas. "It's a wonder you didn't fall out in the floor when he hit you."

"Why," said Chester.

"I don't know. You expect a man to fall when he gets pistol-whipped, I guess," said Jonas.

"I have a hard head," said Chester.

Repeating the gesture more times than he realized, Jonas anxiously patted Chester's arm. "You go on to Doc's, now."

The headache grew steadily worse, and Chester felt dizzier as he walked to Doc's. Chester's eyes clouded every minute or so, clearing when he blinked hard.

The sight of Miss Kitty coming Chester's way heartened him. She paused as she saw him, and walked faster. Miss Kitty looked shrouded in mist to Chester. The boards under his boots seemed to tilt on the side where his head was split, and the gash hurt like razors cutting.

" _Chester,"_ said Kitty. He held a bloodied rag to his head, blood staining his fingers, clutching his hat in his other hand. "You're falling." Kitty put her arms around him. "What happened?"

"Darius Cain hit me with his gun," said Chester.

"That mad animal," said Kitty. She walked with Chester, holding onto him. "Matt oughta kill 'im," she said. "If Matt doesn't, maybe I will."

"Cain _is_ gettin' ta be a menace," said Chester, his voice tremulous. "I wouldn't mind at all if Mr. Dillon shot 'im dead. I'd drink a beer to it, after. Where was you goin', Miss Kitty? Afore you showed ta help me."

"To the marshal's office. To see if Matt wanted to lunch at Delmonico's," Kitty panted. Chester was leaning on her, and she braced herself, pushing at him to keep him upright. It surprised her, how a lean man with a spare frame like Chester's could feel that heavy.

A cowpoke, tall and burly, rose from a bench on the walkway and stepped in front of them. Not quite of an age to be called old timer, he'd clearly seen many years, wore a dust coating and had a kindly face.

"Ma'am," he said, tipping his hat. He took Chester's hat from his hand and gave it to Kitty, slung Chester's arm over the cowboy's wide shoulder, and took hold of Chester's waist. "Now then, son," said the cowpoke.

"It's Doc Adam's place," said Kitty, moving to Chester's other side. "Straight ahead." Chester's head had drooped so his chin rested on his chest, and he raised his head, staring at the cowboy's cheerful weathered face.

The man looked into Chester's expressive round eyes and grinned. "A stranger won't put anything over on _you_ , huh?" said the cowboy.

Chester could think of nothing to say to that, and his head hurt too much to try, so he just said, "Much obliged."

"Sure," said the man.

Kitty rushed ahead of Chester and the cowpoke up the stairs to Doc's and opened the door. Doc looked up from his English translation of Encyclopedie Anatomique. "Kitty," he said.

"Doc, it's Chester."

Doc took off his spectacles and put them on the desk as the cowboy came in, supporting Chester.

"Help him up on the table, there, if you will," said Doc.

The cowboy did, and tipped his hat again to Kitty.

"Thank you," said Kitty.

"Ma'am," he said, and left.

"I guess Mr. Dillon'll be here, soon, maybe," said Chester. "Mr. Jonas said he'd tell 'im."

"What happened," said Doc, smoothing Chester's hair away from the cut.

"That _beast_ Darius Cain pistol-whipped him," said Kitty.

Chester sighed and closed his eyes. "Ahm swimmy-headed," he murmured.

"Lay back and relax, Chester," said Doc, helping Chester to lie down.

"I cain't, Doc. Not with that hammer poundin' ma head."

"I'm gonna give you something to ease the pain while I stitch that gash," said Doc.

Chester gazed into Kitty's eyes, his own half-closed. "I'm passin' out, now, Miss Kitty," he said peacefully, and held out his hand to her.

Kitty pressed his hand between her palms. "Doc?" she said.

Doc lifted Chester's head and put a cup of water with morphine to his mouth. "Come on, Chester," Doc urged. "Drink it down." Chester drank, the last mouthful dribbling down his chin.

"Doc?" Kitty repeated.

Doc pried open Chester's eyelid.

"Is he asleep?" said Kitty.

"He fainted."

Matt came in as Doc cleaned the gash before stitching it. The marshal moved to the table and looked down at Chester. His friend's face was slack, a shade paler than its normal tan hue, his mouth slightly open.

"Doc?" said Matt.

"He's unconscious," said Doc, stitching the cut. "Concussion."

"Will he be alright?" said Matt.

"Yes," said Doc. "I'll keep him here for bedrest, 'til the headache and dizziness clear away."

"Mr. Jonas told me what happened," said Matt.

Doc finished stitching, cleaned the wound again, and sprinkled healing powder. "Matt." Doc wrapped the bandage while Kitty held Chester's head up. "Cain's an angry man, which means he's dangerous," said Doc. "I can't count the number of men come here needing patching up cuz they accidentally bumped Cain or he bumped them. Why you haven't run 'im out of town, I don't know."

"He's too busy tryin' to heat my dander to leave town," said Matt, "and I can't force him. Cain doesn't listen to threats."

"Why don't ya kill 'im," said Kitty.

"Be doin' this town a favor if you did," said Doc.

"What I _can_ do is jail Cain," said the marshal. "Chester's comin' to."

"Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "My head don't hurt no more. You done a good job, Doc."

"That's the morphine, Chester," said Doc. "You'll have headaches and dizzy spells a day or two. You have a concussion. Matt can help you to the bed in there."

"I'm throwin' Cain in jail," said Matt, helping Chester to the bedroom.

"Judge won't give more'n 'bout three days fer pistol-whippin'," said Chester. "A fortnight maybe if Cain had cracked ma head bone. Takes 'bout five days for the court to hear a case like that, and the judge'll turn 'im loose for time served."

Chester settled into Doc's pillows, looking up at Matt. "Cain's one hatin' bloodhound, Mr. Dillon. Only way to stop 'im is to kill him."


	2. Chapter 2

Cain boarded at an inn with two floors and no name on the back street. The sloppily painted sign had just one word, _Rooms_. The desk clerk directed the marshal to Cain's room on the second level.

The door was unlocked, and Matt went in without knocking. Cain lay on the bed, reading the Dodge City Times. He lowered the newspaper, looked at Matt, folded the paper and put it on the small table by the bed, and stood up. His gunbelt hung on the post at the foot of the bed, and Matt picked it up.

"Put that back," said Cain.

"You're under arrest, Cain," said Matt. "Get movin'."

"It was self-defense, Marshal. Chester jumped on me."

"Mr. Jonas witnessed it," said Matt. "Now get movin', or I'll throw you down the stairs."

"You jail me, you dig friend Chester's grave," Cain spat. "I'll kill 'im when I get out."

Matt backhanded Cain, and he fell against the unpainted, splintered chest of drawers, tripped over his boots and hit the floor, his mouth bleeding. Matt took Cain's gun from the holster, stuck it in the marshal's belt and tossed Cain's gunbelt on the belt, then yanked the cowboy to his feet, collared him and strong-armed Cain to the head of the stairs.

The desk clerk heard the commotion and stood at the foot of the flight, looking up wide-eyed. Matt's gut and chest burned with the compulsion, and he later wondered if he'd have thrown Cain down the steps, if not for the clerk.

"Stay away from him or you're dead," Matt said in a low tone, his mouth close to Cain's ear.

"Yeah, we'll see about that," said Cain, his voice choked from Matt's hold on his collar.

"I'm not playing games with you, Cain," Matt said through clenched teeth. He jerked Cain's collar into his throat, squeezing.

"Al _right_ ," Cain choked, flailing and pulling at Matt's fingers. _"Let go."_ Matt let go of him.

"My hat," said Cain.

"We hold belongings thirty days," said the clerk, starting up the stairs. "If you'll wait one moment, Marshal, I'll fetch Mr. Cain's hat."

"Get my—" said Cain.

"Just the hat," said the marshal.

"It's you I wanna kill, Dillon," said Cain, as they walked to the jail. "I'm using your friend to temper you into fightin' me. I guess you know that."

"Either you want to die or you're a fool," said Matt. "You aim to kill every lawman in every town you stay in, do ya?"

"I want to," said Cain. "If I'm gonna risk gettin' hanged or shot, the prize gotta be worth it, though. And you are. You're everything I hate about your breed."

"You're a fool and you're rotten," said the marshal. "A lot of men wanna kill me, Cain, but the worst of 'em had a reason that made sense to them, if no one else. Not many want to kill outa nothin' but hate."

"My father was a sheriff," said Cain. "If he'd beat me when I was a young 'un, it woulda been easy. I'd a had a reason to kill him. But he never once hit me, never laid a rough hand on me or said a harsh word.

"It was the rules I hated. Go to church, go to school, do chores, help the neighbors. Or no riding, no huntin' or fishin' or goin' to the swimming hole. No dessert or pennies for stick candy. No goin' outside for two days, or a week if I set my head against doin' what he told me to. Always forcing rules every minute, not knowin' he taught me to hate 'em, and hate him and what he stood for. Why I'm not a bandit, I don't know," said Cain.

Matt opened the marshal's office door, and he and Cain went in. "Did you kill him?" said Matt. "Your father?"

Cain jerked his head up and gave Matt a shocked look. "No," he said. "I wanted to, but no. Like I said, he give me no reason to. He was fifty-five already when my mother birthed me. He died four years ago, of old age."

"And you have no reason to kill me, or any lawman," said the marshal. "We're only doing what your pa did, Cain."

"You and other lawmen aren't my father," said Cain.

Matt took the jail key from the peg and opened the near cell. Cain stepped in, and Matt closed the cell door and locked it. Holding the bars, Cain looked with his bitter dark eyes at the marshal.

"You ever kill a man, Cain?" said Matt, not sure why he asked.

Cain swallowed visibly, looking into Matt's eyes, and the marshal saw fear behind the incessant anger. Matt waited, and on impulse made his eyes as grim and his face as forbidding as he could. The cowboy slid his fingers around the bars, saying nothing, and Matt knew after a moment that Cain wouldn't answer him.

Two days later, Doc removed the bandage from Chester's head and said he could go back to work. "Come in when the stitches start poking out of your skin," said Doc. "I'll take them out with the forceps."

"Why do they poke when it's healin', Doc." said Chester, putting on his hat.

"Your body does its own needlework, with some help from catgut," said Doc. "Your head sews itself up, pushes my sutures out."

"Gracious," said Chester, fingering his cut. "Ain't that a wonder."

"Now don't go pickin' at it," said Doc. "Unless you want infection. And watch your steps around that Cain fella. He's bad blood."

"Well, alright, Doc," said Chester, nodding seriously, his eyes a bit sad. "I will."

Doc patted Chester's arm. "You're not to blame, Chester," said Doc. "Just be careful."

Mr. Dillon wasn't one for tidying up, and the office already looked less than neat over the two days Chester stayed at Doc's. "Chester, I just boiled that coffee," Matt objected, as Chester stepped out the side door with the coffeepot, to empty it in the dirt.

"We can still use the grounds, Mr. Dillon," Chester instructed, "so's they won't go to waste. Second time wet grounds is good as fresh dry, you know how to fix it. You forgot the eggshells again."

Matt glanced at Cain lying on the bunk and reading the Times, and closed the door to the jail cells. "Chester, I'll see to Cain," said the marshal. "He goes to court in three days, and the judge will likely release him for time served, like you said. He needs anything and I'm out, he'll have to wait 'til I get back. I'll be sleepin' here nights, long as he's in jail."

"Yes, sir," said Chester.

When the judge turned Cain loose for time served as expected, the cowboy turned with a mirthless grin to Matt. The marshal hadn't seen Cain smile, and it looked strange on his surly face.

"You kept Chester from me when I was locked up," Cain said slyly. "I'm free, now. Our little talk about my pa? That was a weak moment; don't change anything. You beat me two times in one day. Not many men can do that."

"That's nothing to what I'll do to you, Cain, you don't leave Chester alone," Matt quietly said.

Anticipating Cain's release while Matt waited with the cowboy in court, Chester felt skittish as a rabbit in a snare, and figured maybe a beer at the Long Branch and Miss Kitty's company would ease his mind. Kitty sat at a table with a plate before her containing two hardboiled eggs, two biscuits and a pat of butter, and coffee.

"Miss Kitty," said Chester, tipping his hat. His face looked strained and pensive.

"You feelin' alright, Chester?" said Kitty.

"Mr. Dillon's at the courthouse with that Darius Cain," said Chester. "He done served the time he has comin', so the judge'll let 'im go."

"I keep tellin' Matt to kill that brute," said Kitty. "If he shows his face in here, maybe I'll get the shotgun and do it myself."

"Oh . . . well," said Chester, smiling a little. "It ain't hardly come to that, Miss Kitty."

"You hungry?" said Kitty. "I hired a new girl; she likes to cook and bake. She's good at it."

"I guess I am, some," said Chester. "It's 'bout lunchtime."

"Help yourself," said Kitty. "The biscuits are still hot.

" _Sam,"_ she called. _"A beer on the house for Chester."_

"Fix yourself a plate, Chester, and set with me awhile," said Kitty.

"Thank you, Miss Kitty. I will."

As they ate, Kitty said her new girl would fix a fine picnic lunch for the price of twenty-five cents, and the talk drifted to fishing. Kitty treated Chester to another beer, and he felt easy and drowsily happy by the time he drained the mug. Chatting about the best spots to dig bait worms, and creeks where the most fish were biting, Chester missed seeing Cain walk through the batwings.

Kitty saw the cowboy come in; she habitually watched the batwings. Much as she disliked Cain—as did everyone Kitty knew; folks kept their distance from him and he seemed to have no friends—he'd never frightened her. Cain took no notice of women. Kitty felt a chill of fear, now, not for herself or her girls, but for Chester.

Cain moved to the table, stopping beside Chester, who blanched, narrowing his eyes at the cowboy. "You want a drink, Cain, you know where the bar is," said Chester.

"You ordering me again?" said Cain.

"Leave him alone, Cain," said Kitty. "You get out of here."

Cain ignored her. Chester stood up. "You heard Miss Kitty," he said.

"Sure. Sure, I heard her," said Cain. "What are you gonna do if I don't get out."

Kitty rose from her chair. "It's alright, Chester," she said. "Let 'im stay.

"Just . . . go to the bar, Cain," said Kitty. Cain paid her no mind.

" _Get out,"_ said Sam. He raised his voice to be heard, though his tone was composed, almost impassive. Sam was always the stoical barkeep. Kitty had never seen him ruffled, not even when Ad Bellum beat him for trying to protect her.

Sam stood behind the bar, aiming a shotgun at Cain. The men and gals deserted the tables and backed away from the bar to stand against the walls.

As Cain drew his six-shooter, Sam knew he wouldn't fire the shotgun. The cowboy stood too close to Kitty and Chester. Sam dove behind the bar, and Cain's bullet shattered a whiskey bottle.

" _Draw a bead on me, will ya, barkeep,"_ said Cain, lowering his gun at the bar where Sam had disappeared from view.

Chester grabbed for Cain's gun hand, and just as Matt pushed through the batwings, Cain whirled on Chester, squeezing the trigger. Chester's body jolted as searing pain ripped through his side, and he doubled over.

Matt drew his gun. _"Cain!"_ he said. Cain spun to face the marshal, and Matt shot him. The bullet hit Cain's belly and he crumpled, dropping his gun.

Still on his feet, Chester looked at the spreading red stain on his shirt, and felt the blood wet on his back. The wound burned like he'd been stabbed with a hot poker. He felt Kitty's little warm hands, one on his back above the bullet hole, the other on his arm.

"Chester?" said Matt, holstering his gun.

"It tore clean through," said Chester. "Missed ma innards, maybe. Hurts powerful, though."

Cain groaned, stirring on the floor. Matt glanced at him, then looked again at Chester.

"I'll make it ta Doc's, Mr. Dillon," said Chester.

"You sure?" said Matt.

"Yessir."

"I'll go with him, Matt," said Kitty.

It was like when Cain hit Chester's head with the gun and Miss Kitty helped him, only this time Chester wouldn't lean on her. She was a small woman, not strong enough for a man to lean on.

"I'm sorry, Chester," said Sam, from behind the bar. "I was trying to scare Cain off. I didn't think he'd start shooting."

"That's alright, Sam," said Chester.

"Come on, Chester," said Kitty. She put her arm around him, careful not to touch the wound, and they left for Doc's.

Matt bent down next to Cain, picked up his gun and put in the marshal's belt, took hold of Cain's shoulder and turned him on his back. His opened eyes were dim, his shirt and vest soaked with blood. "I'll have some men carry you to Doc's," said Matt.

"No," Cain whispered. "It's too late. I have to tell you, Marshal. Please. Before I die."

"Alright," said Matt.

"I killed Jim Malik and Anse Underwood. The ranchers." Cain stiffened, grimacing. "The bullet," he moaned. "Like a . . . ball of fire. In my gut."

"I'll get you to Doc," said Matt.

"No," said Cain. "I have to tell you . . . all of it. I don't wanna . . . die a doomed soul."

"I'm not a parson, Cain. You need Doc."

" _No,"_ Cain gasped. "I did ranch work for Jim and Anse. They wouldn't pay me. Jim was drunk, and Anse just mean, meaner than me. I drew my gun. To make 'em. Pay me. They both shot at me . . . and . . . missed, and I killed them. Self . . . defense. Marshal. I . . . swear. I swear."

"The judge will decide if it's self-defense or not," said Matt. "And how much more jail time you'll get for shooting Chester."

"No," said Cain. "I'm dying."

"You might want to die, Cain," said Matt, "but you're alive."

"No."

Matt stood up. "Two of you men carry him to Doc's, will you?"

Cain groaned, his face contorting as the men lifted him. Matt followed them through the mid-afternoon sunlight to Doc's.

Doc worked fast, especially when Chester was the patient. He was wrapping a bandage around Chester's waist when Matt and the men carrying Cain arrived.

"Cain still alive, is he," said Doc. "Lay him here on the table.

"Chester, you lie on the lounge there, rest awhile. I'm gonna keep you here a day or two."

"Doc, you said them very words not a week ago, when Cain whacked my head with his gun," Chester sighed. "What you said this time's jest a li'l different."

"I know, Chester," Doc soothed. "He won't hurt you no more after this."

Kitty plumped a pillow from Doc's bed and arranged the pillow comfortably on the lounge, and poured coffee for Chester. "I'm not helpin' tend Cain," she said.

"Don't expect you to," said Doc.

"I'll send men up to guard Cain, sunup to sunup, long as he's here, Doc," said Matt. "If his eyes are open, he's unpredictable. Like a wild animal no one can tame."

"No, Marshal," Cain whispered. "No more."

"You rest easy," Doc said to Cain, taking the chloroform bottle from his cabinet. "I'm gonna put you to sleep, take the bullet out."

Heavily dosed with morphine after Doc removed the bullet, Cain slept the rest of the day and through the night. Kitty carried up a basket from Delmonico's the next morning, with eggs and fatback strips, fried spuds 'n onions and coffee cake.

"Is Mr. Dillon comin' to eat with us?" said Chester, as Kitty fixed him a tray.

"Matt and I ate earlier," said Kitty. "He's lining up some more men to guard Cain. This breakfast is all for you and Doc and Mr. Drake."

Their guard of the hour, Mr. Drake was a strong stocky man known in Dodge for his soundness of mind, with keen eyes in a placid, pleasant face. "I'm obliged, Miss Kitty," he said, accepting the plate and cup of coffee she handed him. "Most guardin' jobs, I have to tote my own parcel of jerky and hardtack. Got it right here in my pocket."

"Well, you just save that for later, Mr. Drake," said Kitty. "Matt says you're the best guard in town, and we're gonna treat you right."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"He don't get none," said Chester around a mouthful of eggs, looking at Cain lying motionless on Doc's table. "On account of he can't eat it."

"He gets only rice gruel and beef broth a spell," said Doc, "when he can keep it down. The bullet mangled his stomach. He can't drink the morphine, either. Have to give him injections."

"I cannot believe I'm feeling a teeny bit sorry for Cain, Doc," said Kitty, looking at the cowboy's drawn, gray face. "Against my better judgment. I'm still not nursin' 'im."

"Matt wouldn't want you to nurse him, Kitty," said Doc. "No harm feeling compassion, though. Cain's a mean one and no mistake. But by golly he's human."

"I shot a pronghorn, oncet," Chester commenced, chewing crispy fatback. "I used up all ma other bullets shootin' rabbit. Delmonico's paid me fifteen cent each rabbit, and all the roast and fricassee I cud eat. Anyhow, the pronghorn took 'is time dyin', thrashin' on the ground and his eyes bulgin', so's I felt for 'im. Ah _did_ ," said Chester.

"Well, what happened then, Chester," said Kitty.

"I picked me up a big rock and smashed his head," said Chester sorrowfully. "Mercy, that was hard ta do, Miss Kitty, that ole antelope not bein' a man, howsoever. I made maself, to stop his pain."

"You did that antelope a kindness, Chester," said Kitty.

"Surely," Mr. Drake said earnestly.

"So how does that remembrance make you feel about Cain, Chester," said Doc.

Chester looked in perplexity from Doc to Cain. "Well, Doc, I ain't gonna bash Cain's head with no rock," said Chester. "I believe in turning the other cheek." Kitty's eyes twinkled and her cheeks flushed, holding in laughter, and Mr. Drake grinned.

"Why're you laughing at me, Doc," said Chester.

"I'm not joshin' you, Chester." Doc stood, set down his plate and coffee cup, and briefly laid his hand on Chester's side above the bandage. "Not while you're poorly," Doc said.

Doc looked at Cain, who'd awakened and was watching them. "Good thing I didn't kill you," Cain faintly told Chester. "I won't hang, if the judge rules Malik and Underwood's killings self-defense." Cain blinked, as though recollecting something. "Unless I killed the barkeep," he said.

"Sam? He's fine," said Doc, lifting layers of bloodied cotton from Cain's wound. "You in any pain?"

"No," said Cain.

"You killed Malik and Underwood?" said Chester.

"They shot at me, first. If their aim weren't so bad, I'd be dead."

"Doc, I need to tell Mr. Dillon 'bout this," said Chester. "Cain confessed."

"I told the marshal last night," said Cain, as Doc cleaned his wound. "On account of I thought I was dying. I'd a kept my mouth shut on it if I'd a known I would live.

"Where's the marshal. I need to tell him I won't trouble him no more; I won't hate no more. I don't want to die a condemned soul," said Cain. "My pa said I'd be lost all eternity if I didn't turn from my wicked ways, and it most happened."

"Now, you rest easy," said Doc, folding a clean cloth into a thick square for a fresh bandage. "Matt'll be up by-and-by."

Sipping from his second cup of coffee, Chester told Cain, "You need the parson."

"No," said Cain. "Parson knows the Bible, but he don't understand a man like me. Dillon does, and he's the one I'll tell."

"You can tell him all you want, when he comes up," said Doc. "He'll listen."

"I won't hound you anymore, either, Chester," said Cain.

"Well, _that_ remains to be seen," Kitty said under her breath.

"Can't say I'm sorry; I'm not a remorseful man," Cain went on. "Changing my ways is about all I can do. And this whole thing began anyway when you bumped me by Grimmick's livery, Chester."

Chester startled. "You hesh up," he said in a gentle burst, mindful that Cain was badly gunshot.

Doc had heated beef broth on the stove, and he lifted Cain's head, putting the cup to his lips. Cain swallowed the liquid, then cut his eyes over at Chester. "Changing my ways don't mean I'll let a man like you tell me what to do," said Cain.

"Never mind," said Doc. "Be quiet and drink."

"You hesh up," Chester said to Cain, in the mild voice he used when helping Doc tend the sick and injured. "You cain't do nothin', Cain. 'Bout nothin'. You oughn't bother Mr. Dillon with confessin' yer sins. Tell the parson."

Cain tried to push Doc's arm holding the cup away, and Doc pushed Cain's hand down. "Finish it," Doc said firmly.

Cain took another drink. "I can do plenty soon as I'm healed sufficient to rise offa this table," he said. "I'll split your hide wide open, Chester."

"You talk mighty bold for a man flat on his back, Cain," said Chester, as Matt walked in. "Maybe you won't never git up. You might die."

"Chester," said Matt.

Cain strove to sit up, and Doc held him down. "Doc," said Matt. "Should we move Chester to the bedroom?"

" _No,"_ said Chester. "I wanna stay here. Move Cain to the bedroom."

"No," said Doc. "They're both staying here in the front room. Makes it easier for me to tend them. Chester . . . behave yourself."

"Oh, Doc," said Kitty. She'd pulled a chair close to the lounge, and sat rubbing Chester's shoulder. "None of this is Chester's fault," she said.

"Well . . . of course it isn't, Kitty," said Doc. "I already told Chester he wasn't to blame, after Cain pistol-whipped him."

"I need to talk to you, Marshal," said Cain. "I need to tell you some things."

The marshal pulled up a chair near the table where Cain lay. "Alright, Cain," said Matt. "I'm listening."


	3. Chapter 3

Although not forceful or vindictive, Chester at times took a potent aversion to a lawbreaker. Matt worried that if locked up again, Cain might bide his time, waiting for the shadow of a chance to strike like a rattler and spew his anger on Chester yet again. Chester lacked the shrewdness, reflex and sureness to safely jailkeep Cain; and as the marshal was now too busy to see to Cain's needs in jail without Chester's assistance, Matt petitioned the judge to hear the cowboy's case on the day Doc said Cain would be recovered enough to leave Doc's office.

"Ah'm thankful you'll ride with Cain on the stage, direct to prison from court, Mr. Dillon," said Chester, "so's we won't haveta tend to 'im in jail. I'd end knockin' the venom outa him with a two-by-four, contrariwise."

"Stay away from Doc's, so long as Cain's there, Chester," said Matt. "Doc'll come here to the office to see how your wound's healing. It took me and Doc and the guard to keep you and Cain from each other's throats, those three days you mended at Doc's."

"It warn't my fault Cain fell off Doc's table tryin' ta jump on me," said Chester. He and Matt sat outside the marshal's office under the warm sun. Doc said Chester was taking longer to mend than a healthy young man should, and the sun would help cure him.

The gash on his head had scabbed though not scarred, and Doc told Chester to set outdoors with his hat off, since hot days were some time down the road. When Doc probed Chester's side where Cain shot him, Doc said the hole was open and raw deep inside under Chester's skin, and ordered him to take three spoonfuls of tonic every day instead of two.

The wound hurt when Chester moved a heap of ways, and the pain along with an unfamiliar simmering hostility made him tetchy. Doc gave Chester laudanum for the pain and his nerves, and assured him the riled feeling would go away, and he'd heal fast as he usually did, when the marshal rode with Cain on the stage, bound for Lansing prison.

"Mr. Dillon," said Chester, "I wisht you wouldn't talk like me an' that Darius Cain are the same breed, like me _an'_ Cain, talkin' of me together with him. You and Doc done it somewhat, maybe. Miss Kitty never done it. I'm her friend like as I always been." Chester's voice was husky with feeling. "Miss Kitty knows what Cain is," he said. "She says he's a born brute, and all his talk of reforming is jest so he kin make it through the pearly gates when he dies."

"Chester, you're my friend too," said Matt. "That hasn't changed and it won't. I can't speak for Doc, but I think he feels the same. If anything I said sounded like you and Cain are of a kind, I'm sorry. That wasn't my meaning and I didn't know I was doing it. Doc will agree in a heartbeat, you ask him."

Matt pushed his hat to the back of his head, looking at Chester, who gazed straight ahead at Front Street. "Chester, you're _nothing_ like Cain," said Matt. "You're . . . like today with the sun shining, and Cain's the night with no stars."

Chester looked at Matt. "You mean that in truth, Mr. Dillon?" Chester's voice quavered.

"I know it," said Matt.

"I guess . . . maybe I should go inside a spell," said Chester, his eyes moist.

"Alright," Matt said, and patted Chester's hand.

In the absence of witnesses, the court ruled self-defense in the deaths of ranchers Jim Malik and Anse Underwood, and sentenced Cain to a minimum of five months and a maximum of ten months in prison for shooting Chester.

When Matt rode back into Dodge on the stage after escorting Cain to Lansing, Doc was waiting alone to greet him. "Doc," said Matt. "Chester's usually here to meet me when I come in on the stage."

"Oh, Chester's doing well," said Doc. "He perked up soon as you left town with Cain, and I'd swear his injuries are already healing faster. Kitty's the best medicine for him. They're out fishing."

"Good to hear," said Matt.

"You say any parting words to Cain, did you?" said Doc, walking beside Matt to the marshal's office. "The way he poured out his heart to you, I figured you two got to be friends."

"Doc, I can't say how much I miss your wit when I'm away," said Matt. "I told Cain if he ever shows his face in Dodge again, I'll document him as a public menace and throw 'im in jail until he agrees to get out of town. It was hard, seeing what he put Chester through. I should've protected him, Doc."

"Matt, you _did_ protect him," said Doc. "And Sam, and who knows whoever else that day at the Long Branch."

"I should've stopped Cain from hurting Chester at all."

"Chester's just fine now, and he still reveres the ground you walk on. You think you can save him from ever getting hurt, in this land and this town particular, you're expecting too much of yourself. You saved his life when you shot Cain. You're a good lawman, Matt," said Doc. "I . . . wouldn't want you to forget that."

Matt stopped in front of the marshal's office. "I'll try and remember it, Doc," he said. Doc patted Matt's arm, and turned to walk back to his rooms.

Facing Front Street, Matt dropped his traveling satchel on an outdoor chair, planted his boots apart and hooked his thumbs in his belt. He was not one to hum tunes or whistle, or he would have done both.


End file.
